There is a big fight going on to our left about fifteen miles away.
IN TRENCHES.
_December 17th, 1914._
You are safely in Carlton, I trust, by now. I am afraid I wish I was
there, too, in one sense, though certainly not in another. The war was
none of our seeking, but it has got to be seen through by anything
that calls itself a soldier! What I feel is the constant discomfort,
not to mention the danger; of the latter there is no doubt, and our
trenches are right to the fore. We had quite enough of it yesterday
with rifle bullets. To-day they varied the entertainment by putting
big shells about us, fortunately not on us, so our battery had to
change its position. Of course, we, the infantry, must hold our
ground, and cannot move.... Enclosed is the Special Order of the
Day[8]; perhaps you would like to keep it. I am having a luncheon
party to-day to eat the pheasants and plum pudding. It consists of
Col. MacAndrew and one of his officers who have come up the road from
the headquarters of the Lincoln Regiment, which is on our right. The
guns are shooting cheerfully again over our heads, but I am feeling
very fit, having just had a hot tub--the first for some time. Your
French postcard was returned to me by the stupid post, so I shall try
and send it to you in an envelope, as you want to keep it for a
curiosity. Many thanks for the turkey. I do not see why you should
worry so much to send me things, ... but it is most good of you.
Thanks for mittens; I think everyone here is now more or less
supplied; but mine made by you will be much esteemed. I am sorry that
your cousin, Sir Standish Roche, has gone and that S---- will now be a
widow. I must close.
I do not think any of us can get away on leave at present, and if we
could, I hardly like leaving the men in the trenches.